


Sky Rockets In Flight

by Space_Cadet_Blues



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: America is a Dork (Hetalia), Anal Sex, England is an enabler, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Romance, sex on a plane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25864210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Cadet_Blues/pseuds/Space_Cadet_Blues
Summary: America takes Air Force One for a joy ride and ends up (metaphorically) on England's doorstep.England can't believe he's in love with this twat.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 63





	Sky Rockets In Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Revisiting a pairing that's been near and dear to my heart for almost 10 years! 
> 
> TW: This story is set during present day so there are mentions of the pandemic and some subtle Trump bashing. 
> 
> If that's not likely to put you off then please enjoy!

England arrives at the airport, his stomach slowly beginning to twist itself in knots. His shoes squeak on the polished floor as he makes his way to the private gate, every step feeling like a hundred. 

It’s unlike America to defy his own President, no matter the party, but, on the other hand, it _is_ very much like America to stage some sort of ridiculous act of rebellion when the mood strikes him. England would know after all. 

He adjusts his mask, fruitlessly flattens his hair before he realises he’s preening. Actually _preening_ for this complete idiot. He’d also worn his best shirt too, and topped off his smart-casual attire with a spritz of cologne. 

_Bloody hell_. 

He gains clearance to the private stretch of runway and exits out onto the tarmac to be met with the sight of Air Force One. 

America had taken the bloody Presidential jet on a joy ride, during a pandemic, to try and get laid. 

Airport staff fix a set of metal stairs into place and England fancies he can hear the quickening drum of his own heartbeat. The traitorous organ a clear winner in the fight with his common sense. But It’s understandable he reasons, it's been a while since they’ve seen each other, they’ve both been more than busy.

The door opens and America steps out, squinting at England through the afternoon sunlight beating down on them. He grins, wide and toothy and England feels his breath leave him. Still. He shouldn’t be encouraging this kind of reckless behaviour. He frowns and crosses his arms as America descends the stairs, cocky and radiating wild energy. 

“Ain’t you happy to see me Kitten?” 

England is happy. Very happy. So happy he’d worn his trousers with the dodgy button for ease of access but still. America wants him to jump into his arms immediately, maybe gush about how much England has missed him. 

He absolutely will not.

They have to play the game. Like always. 

“You’re just as much a pain in the arse over the phone as you are in person, you didn’t need to come all the way here.” 

England looks up at the jet before looking back at America who is casually cleaning his glasses with the hem of his breezy t-shirt, not a care in the world. England pretends not to see the revealed slither of tan skin, the well defined V that dips down into America’s chinos. 

“Get permission to take her for a spin did you?” 

America’s eyes twinkle mischievously, cornflower blue matching the deep summer sky above them. “I’ll have it back before he knows it’s missing,” he says airily, placing his glasses back on his nose and waving a hand dismissively. 

“Right,” England says, his tone disbelieving. He's thankful America can’t see the small smile behind his mask. 

“So, you coming aboard or what? There’s a glass of champagne with your name on it~” America sing-songs.

“I don’t believe that would be in alignment with social distancing,” England says, making no attempt to move toward the stairs. He will, but making America work for it is part of the ritual. 

America snorts a laugh. “She’s pretty roomy. I’m sure we can stay 6ft apart.”

He gives England a look that says he intends to do nothing of the sort, friendly grin now turning into a sly smile. England does his best to suppress a shiver of delight. He sighs instead, trying to look annoyed. 

“Fine.” 

Following America immediately up the steps turns out to be a mistake, as England tries and fails not to look at his arse. 

Once they are on board and America has pulled the door shut he turns to England with a triumphant smile. 

“Drink?”

“Please.” 

“You can take that off y'know, I don’t have anything,” America says, gently jabbing England in the cheek over his mask.

England bats his hand away. “One never knows with you.” 

“Ha ha, please. What makes you say that?”

“Because you’re a reckless bastard.” 

America starts off, leading the way to the Presidential suite laughing as he goes. 

“True.” 

The suite is a simple office, fairly spacious with two couches facing a large oak desk situated in the corner. As England peels off his mask and pockets it he notes that the room smells slightly musty with a nose tickling overlay of polish and cleaning products. 

America rounds the desk and sinks into the leather chair behind it, pulling a small tray holding a mostly full crystal decanter and a handful of glasses across the surface.

America pours a glass and offers it lazily from his chosen seat. England rolls his eyes and moves to collect the drink from his hand. Their fingers brush and America gives him an intense look before England steps away, but he doesn’t sit. He sniffs the contents of the glass and makes a small pleased sound before taking a sip. Whiskey, high quality to boot. 

“Very good stuff. I’m assuming this doesn’t belong to you.”

America moves from side to side, swivelling the chair slightly with a smug look on his face. England is briefly reminded of the times America would sneak cakes from the kitchen as a boy. 

“Maybe.” 

Definitely. 

England knows America prefers ridiculously sugary cocktails and just like his commandeering of this jet, his pilfering of the expensive private stock aboard is most certainly out of spite. 

And England can’t blame him. Not one bit.  
England knocks back more of the amber liquid savouring the taste and is mildly surprised when America joins him, kicking his feet up on the desk and reclining with his glass clutched in hand. 

“You’ll scuff that,” England says, almost automatically.

“Will I?” America doesn’t sound too bothered.

“The man who sits behind it is certainly a prick but don’t take it out on the desk.” 

America swallows down some more alcohol, his cheeks starting to pinken. England can feel a little heat in his own face accompanied by warmth in his belly. 

“What if I want to,” America says, taking the decanter by the neck and sipping straight from it.   
It makes for an absurd picture. America in his alien themed t-shirt and chinos, casually sipping likely ridiculously expensive liquor he doesn’t much care for out of an equally expensive container. 

England represses the urge to giggle. Good lord he’s tipsy already. 

“What if I want to ruin every surface on this whole plane.” 

The look America gives him makes that warm feeling more potent. “How would you go about doing that?” England asks. 

He sips more alcohol to add to the headiness of the situation, already knowing the answer, he’s just waiting for America to make a move. 

Which he does. 

Clumsily he puts down the decanter and his glass and vaults over the desk. He stands in front of England, close to him, gaze intense once again. He’s not attempting to be intimidating. England had told him once when he was drunk that he found the size of him quite appealing and now America makes a point to show off. 

England almost laughs then but America plucks the glass out of his hand and places it next to his own. Gently he touches England’s cheek and England’s heart quickens its pace. When their eyes meet America grins mischievously, dropping his hand to his side casually. 

“What? I’m not gonna do anything.”

England smacks his arm. 

“Ow- ha ha.”

“I’m going to have to quarantine myself for two weeks so you had better do something to make this worth my while.”

“You’re right. I mean you even dressed up all pretty for me.” America leans in close and sniffs at the crook of his neck. “You even wore the cologne I got you for Christmas.” 

England thumps a fist against his chest and America catches him by the wrist. 

“Narcissist,” England breathes, trying to sound irritated but any further insults are muted by America’s soft lips against his own. 

He tastes of bubble-gum and cherry cola and God England has missed this. He finds himself leaning into him hands curling into the front of his stupid t-shirt. 

America’s hands however, start to wander, tracing the shape of him and England shivers under his warm touch. 

America breaks the kiss and rests his forehead on England’s giving a soft hum. Before England can react America reaches out and swipes both of their glasses and the decanter off of the desk. Crystal thumps onto the carpet, spraying whiskey and England can smell the alcohol as it sinks into the fibres. 

“You bastard. I wasn’t finished with that.”

“Shame.”

America turns him towards the desk and presses along his back, lips brushing the pulse point on his neck. America isn’t particularly suave, not as naturally attuned to England as some of his previous partners. But he’s clever in different ways. He figured out a long time ago what England likes and dislikes and at this point can play him like a finely tuned instrument. He approaches sex like everything else. Blunt and honest, always assessing, always trying to look for a weakness. 

America’s hands brush over England’s chest, palms grazing his nipples making him squirm, and when America’s fingers reach the buttons on his shirt England gasps, “don’t you dare.”

Because if America has his way England knows from experience he’ll rip it open just to piss him off.   
America laughs into his neck. “Cool your jets old man, I’ll be gentle.”

And he is, surprisingly. Popping each button quickly and carefully. 

“I had better get some champagne after this,” England grumbles. 

“Hah, about that,” America says, and then in a poor imitation of England’s accent: “I’m afraid I was tellin' porkies.” 

England flushes at the mangled attempt to parrot his way of speaking. “Fantastic. Just get on with it will you.” 

“Yessir,” America chirps and his wandering hands glide downwards. 

England lays his hands on the desk for balance as America roughly tugs his shirt from his trousers. The temperature is fairly warm but gooseflesh rises on his exposed skin all the same. 

America is quick to pop the button on his trousers and slide down the zip, huffing against the back of England’s neck. “God, I just wanna fuckin’ eat you up.”

“Please do, it’ll shut you up for half a minute.”

America gives a small giddy laugh and slides down England’s back, and in the same motion he drags England’s trousers to his knees. 

“Commando, for me? You shouldn’t have.”

“It’s laundry day,” England barks. 

“Uh-huh suuure it is.” 

England is about to feebly attempt to defend himself when America’s hands greedily cup his arse. The younger nation gives a satisfied hum and spreads him. England flushes as he feels America’s gaze on him, and then his breath puffing against his skin. 

“Cherry?” America asks, and England can hear the grin on his face. 

England had declined to respond to America’s filthy text messages first thing in the morning but had, had the sense to prep before coming out to meet him. He knew it would end up like this. He’d wanted it to. 

“Yes well it’s all I had in the house.”

“You mean the one I left there on my last visit. Were you saving yourself for me Kitten?” 

He was. Maybe not entirely consciously but he’d not taken up any other opportunities for intimacy in quite some time. Not that he’d let America know that. Instead he chooses provocation. 

“Maybe it’s new. Portugal is rather fond of cherries- ah!”

America practically attacks him with his mouth and after a few moments England is melting against polished wood, knees starting to tremble. 

America’s tongue flicks over his slick hole and then presses inside. Intermittently America stops tongue fucking him to press his fingers into him instead, whispering curses as he coaxes more reactions from England’s body. Clever fingers easily finding England’s sweet spot, sending licks of pleasure up his spine. 

When England has been sufficiently loud and squirmy enough America stands up behind him. England hears him stumble a little on the way up and holds back a laugh. He knows just what America looks like without turning round, pink to the tips of his ears, hair a mess and glasses askew. 

There’s a rustling of clothing and England trembles in anticipation, sticking his hips out a little more and hoping America doesn’t notice. If he does he refrains from saying anything as he presses up tight behind England again, rubbing his cock between his cheeks. 

“Fuck, Baby.”

England doesn’t have the strength to reprimand him for calling him 'Baby,' instead he lets America take him by the hips and move him a little for easier access and gasps when America breaches him. His palms are sweating, he can feel it against the surface of the desk. America’s hot hitched breathing is loud in his ear, and with each easing thrust England can hear him catching himself on the verge of a whimper. 

America’s hands flex on his naked waist, they slip up under his shirt smoothing over his sides. England wills himself to relax and America sinks into him a little more. 

“Fuck, that’s so good. So good.”

England had almost forgotten that America was a talker but he finds it comforting in an odd way. It’s something he doesn’t realise he misses until it’s gone. And just like that England is glad America is here, mumbling filthy nonsense into his ear and pawing at him. 

America continues to move him as he wants and England lets him set the pace, cursing quietly as America buries himself to the hilt on each steady thrust. England’s fingers curl and he can feel sweat prickling at his hairline. America gets a clumsy, sweaty hand around his cock and England can’t help the noise it pulls out of him, gaining pitch as America’s hand slides firmly from root to tip over and over again. 

“Fuck, yeah that’s it, don’t hold back,” America breathes.

England always tries at first but never lasts for long. It’s impossible not to let himself go when America is always imperfectly perfect at this. 

America picks up the pace, the sound of skin on skin and heavy breaths loud in the otherwise quiet room. England notices after a few long moments of this that America’s rhythm is getting progressively wilder and his breath is hitching like he’s about to-

“Oh fuck! A-ah~ England... ” America stutters to a halt before giving one more feeble trembling thrust. “Boom goes the dynamite~”

England peers back at him in disbelief. “Did you just-“

America refuses to look at him, pretending to find the freckles on England’s lower back extremely interesting. “Its been a while okay! Give me a break.”

“Yes well, you’re going to have to have one now aren’t you?”

America groans in response, momentarily resting on England’s back before carefully disengaging with a sigh. 

England turns to watch him, leaning against the desk, crossing his arms and grinning as he does so.“My, my. Were you saving yourself for me love?” 

“Pfft. Whatever,” America grunts, flushing a deeper pink, and he once again redirects England’s amusement by getting rather bossy. “Hey, take your pants off, you can like, sit on my face or whatever,” he says, kicking off his shoes to get his bottoms all the way off. 

“Last time I did that you complained that you couldn’t breathe and that your jaw ached.”

“Yeah, but It was _hot_ though.”

The dopey grin on his face and the ridiculousness of him standing in the middle of the room in just his t-shirt makes England snort an involuntary laugh. 

“Come here will you,” England says, it comes out softer than intended. 

America steps close and England pulls him by the back of the neck into a kiss. A few moments later and his flagging erection pulses with renewed excitement. 

America lifts him onto the desk and gets a hand around him pumping him steadily, resting his sweaty forehead on England’s in between greedy kisses. His glasses slip to the end of his nose and England gently pushes them back into place making them both laugh breathlessly. 

England can hear the pounding of his heart in his ears, the ache of pleasure low in his belly intensifying, growing with his overwhelming fondness for this man. 

America kisses him, slow and deep and selfishly England is glad America made the trip. He splays a hand over America’s heart and savours the intimacy of the moment as America finally brings him to climax. 

They spend a few minutes clinging to each other, just simply being together. America hums something soft and sweet into the crook of England’s neck, fingers stroking up his spine.   
England melts. 

“You should stay for a few days,” he says after barely getting his breath back, and then he turns bright red because that sounded much too needy. 

America looks a little surprised for a moment but then he grins. “Miss me that much huh?” 

“Hm, maybe I just want to lecture you about proper etiquette during a pandemic. God knows I’ve lived through enough of them.”

“Alright, I’ll stay for the lecture old man. But first, we should go visit the conference room... And the cockpit.” 

America winks and England rolls his eyes, but he can't hold back a smile. 

“Well then, lead the way.” 


End file.
